


The Feeling of Home

by ZephyrDesign



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrDesign/pseuds/ZephyrDesign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve Rogers admits that the next mission could very well be the one they don't survive Clint Barton sends the super soldiers to the safest place he knows. Steve and Bucky are expecting a quite place to heal but what they find is more than they ever knew they needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Quite the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first venture into fan fiction in over a decade, but this idea just wouldn't leave me alone. I'll ask in advance that you pay particular attention to the section headers which indicate the time, date, and location of each scene as they don't always follow a linear path in order to give a better overview of what's going on from different character points of view. Constructive criticism is always welcome but be aware that the Non Canon Compliant tag exists for a reason.

#### Friday, August 26, Tennessee, 4:45 am

The sound of her cell phone ringing from her bedside table is just loud enough to jolt Anne Rose out of the first deep sleep she's been able to fall into all week and she curses as she fumbles in the dark to answer it before the voicemail picks up. Without really looking she swipes at the green icon and rolls over onto her back.

"'Lo?" Anne croaks, surprised she can even get that much of a greeting out through the fog that is currently her brain.

"I need a favor." The voice on the other end of the line is slightly gravelly and very serious. Anne blinks hard in the dark and squints at the screen, not entirely sure the caller has the right number until she sees the words "bird boy" backlit in blurry letters.

"Clint? Time is it? Whas wrong?" She slurs, still not quite coherent but struggling to wake up enough to make sense of what her friend is calling for at o'dark thirty.

"Early. Shit, Anne I'm sorry. Didn't think to look at a clock." Clint's voice softened slightly but she can still hear the edge to it.

"S'alright. Been working doubles for two weeks. Half the plant has the flu." Anne grumbles.

"Baby girl, you promised you weren't gonna take so much overtime anymore." Clint admonishes slightly and Anne can't help but growl at her friend's protective attitude from a thousand miles away. 

"Couldn't really say no with everyone else pulling what they can too. Done today though. Actually have a weekend." She replies, hoping that would be the end of the discussion. "Now tell me what's wrong. You're usually not awake before dawn yourself."

Clint sighs and Anne can picture him dragging a hand over his face in that way he has when he is at the end of his metaphorical rope. After several minutes of silence, he finally begins a stilted explanation that she can really only half follow. "If you've been working round the clock you probably haven't seen the news but there's been some real bad shit going down lately and it's been one crap assignment after another with almost nothing to break up the travel and the ops."

"Clint, you're rambling." Anne breaks in, finally awake enough to be really worried about her usually painfully abrupt friend.

"I need Haven, Annie." The simple statement is enough and Anne finally sits up and turns on her bedside light.

"Why aren't you already here?" Anne asks, concern overriding her fatigue. "You shouldn't even be calling to ask."

"It's not for me this time, baby girl." Anne sags back against the pillows letting out an agitated breath.

"Dammit Clint..." She gets ready for a small rant but before she can even begin the archer stops her cold.

"I'm fine Anne. Hand to God, I swear. But two of my friends aren't and if they don't get out of New York soon it could be bad." It's rare that Clint ever sounds so serious and Anne holds her tongue.

"How bad?" Anne almost hesitates to ask but she really needs to know what she might be getting into.

"They way they are now, if they went back out I'd lay pretty good odds either one or both of them wouldn't make it back alive." Clint gives her the honest truth, not liking that things have come so far recently. "The rest of us all have ways to disappear, cope with the worst of it. These two only have each other and nowhere to hide from any of it. They're both so broken right now that it's just not going to be enough to hope they can figure it out on their own."

Anne makes a sound of distress, scrubbing at her own face in frustrated defeat before giving Clint the only answer she really can. "How soon until they get here?"

"If they leave in the next few hours, with a couple of stops, they can be there Sunday afternoon or evening." The archer doesn't thank her, it would only piss her off but she can hear the relief in his voice as he explains that it would be better for his friends to drive from New York, taking back roads to stay as much off the radar as possible for everyone's safety. Anne doesn't disagree with him, doesn't even ask who his friends are at this point because it is obvious he doesn't want to say much more over even the secure line she's sure he's calling from.

"Don't worry, bird brain, we'll all be fine. I'll take good care of them." Anne tells him once he winds down with the sketchy travel details. "And you're still coming for Yule right?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Clint responds. "Love you, Annie girl."

The call disconnects before she has a chance to return the words and Anne can't help but roll her eyes at the predictable end to the conversation. Briefly, she considers trying for more sleep but slides out of bed instead. No point in tossing for an hour when she's got more useful things to do.

 

#### Friday, August 26, New York City, 1:30 am

It's always been Clint Barton's job to watch from the shadows, patient and waiting until the time came for him to make the final move, but watching his team mates fall apart isn't something he can do. And Steve Rogers was definitely falling apart. Clint contemplates the best way to convince the other man that it's time for him to take Bucky and go, but he knows it might not be easy. What little Steve has left is here in New York, but it's a different New York than what either of the super soldiers knew before and memories don't always provide the strongest handhold. Clint wants to sigh at the maudlin thought but chooses to step forward into the hospital room, scraping his heel deliberately against the door jamb to alert Steve to his presence. 

"Any change?" Clint asks, not quite comfortable with the defeated look on Cap's face as he turns from the window to watch him approach.

"The doctors put him under when the nightmares got so bad they were afraid he'd tear the stitches again." Steve says the exhaustion clear in his voice. "Even with some of the serum's healing abilities they can't take them out until they're sure wound won't reopen when he moves."

Clint looks over at the still form of Steve's best friend. Bucky hadn't been fast enough to dodge large pieces of falling steel from an exploding building two days ago and had several lines of stitches running along his rib cage. The pain had shot the younger man back into Winter Soldier mode and it took both Tony and Thor to subdue him, even injured, so they could get him back to the Tower. He'd woken, briefly, as himself but his nightmares had returned worse than ever and Steve refused to leave his side.

"None of us can keep going like this, Cap. Least of all the two of you." Clint finally says, taking the tiger right by the tail. "You need a break. Now."

Clint is expecting an argument so is surprised when the soldier drops into a chair next to the hospital bed and bends forward, lacing his hands across the back of his neck. "You're right. I just don't know what to do. When I saw that building coming down on Bucky all I could think was that I couldn't loose him again but I wasn't close enough to save him, and when he came at me as the Winter Soldier I would have let him kill me if Tony hadn't been right there to pull me back."

Steve's voice breaks and before Clint can offer any kind of consolation, Natasha is suddenly there pulling him into a hug, letting Steve cry against her shoulder in deep wracking sobs. She catches Clint's eye over their leader's head, her expression a sharp demand for him to _do something_ even as she's crooning nonsense words of comfort. Clint takes a deep breath, hoping he's making the right choice with his next words.

"I have a friend with a place in Tennessee, just east of Nashville. It's completely protected and very very private. You and Bucky would be safe there." Natasha sucks in a breath with an audible hiss and Clint has even less trouble reading the instinctive denial on her face but he shrugs slightly. He's been thinking about this carefully since they brought Bucky to medical and even if it wasn't a good idea it's the only one he has. "Only Nat and I know about it. You can drop completely out of sight for as long as you want. The rest of us can handle things here if we need to."

Steve pulls gently away from the red head's embrace, slightly embarrassed now that he's calming down. He looks between the two assassins and sees the odd conversation they're having through facials expressions and body language. Eventually Natasha looks away with a shrug and turns to speak.

"It's a good place, Steve. The two of you will be comfortable there." Clint and Natasha both watch him and their concern is almost a tangible thing.

"Okay." Steve agrees, "As soon as the doctors say Bucky can travel we'll go."

Clint visibly sags in relief. "I'll take care of it. You can leave as soon as you get some sleep."

 

#### Sunday, August 28, Tennessee, 1:00 pm

Anne is on her knees halfway through weeding tomatoes when her phone creaks like a rusty hinge indicating that the main gate at the road has just been accessed. She frowns at the screen and clears the alert, cursing at the time. Her guests are early. The late August temperatures have been brutal and she is taking advantage of the day's slightly cooler weather to tend some of the more direct garden chores. She'd hoped to have another hour for weeding and mulching her vegetable plot.

She hauls herself upright, arching backwards to release the tension caused by bending forward and strips off the thin garden gloves. She can't do much about the knees of her jeans but she brushes off the worst of the rich loamy soil and hangs her wide brim hat on the fence post next to the gate. Her two dogs, lounging in the shade of an apple tree on the other side of the fenced area, come to immediate attention as she heads toward the back of the house.

"Conn, Myst, barn." She issues the command firmly and, when the borzois hesitate, reinforces it with a sharp hand gesture. The animals are well trained, but she watches them jump the pasture fence gracefully before turning back toward the house. It's better if she waits to introduce the dogs to her visitors. She's acutely aware that the large Russian breed makes some people nervous not only because of their size but also because of the fierce intelligence they exhibit.

Once inside Anne uses the utility sink in the mud room to wash the worst of the sweat off her arms and face before reaching for a long sleeve t-shirt from the top of the pile of clothes folded on the dryer. She manages to pull it over her head and toe off her yard shoes at the same time, just as she hears the sound of an engine coming down the dirt road leading to the front of the house. Her socks leave damp spots on the hardwood floor but she's pretty much out of time. She does a quick check in the hall mirror to make sure that the shirt collar is positioned properly and tugs the sleeves down just a little farther toward the leather cuffs on her wrists.

Anne stands just inside the screen door where she knows the shadows make it hard to see her and watches Clint's truck come into view. The camper shell is installed on the bed, which is a little unusual, but as the vehicle backs in next to her small Nissan she sees two people through the windshield so she shrugs it off. Until the driver gets out and moves around the front of the vehicle as the passenger door remains closed. Then, Anne reaches for the small, invisible unless you look for it, inset on the door frame that Clint helped her install when she first moved in. With one push she can slid the whole frame out to access the rifle she keeps hidden there.

The driver's features are completely obscured by a worn out baseball cap and a ridiculous pair of aviator sunglasses so Anne watches warily until the other door finally swings open and the driver reaches up to support the other man as he climbs from the cab. The second man is the shorter of the two, face equally hidden, and it's obvious that he's injured in some manner judging by the way he holds himself carefully and allows his friend to support him. Anne relaxes slightly and moves to step onto the wide front porch, still watching the vaguely intimate dynamic between the pair.

The men look up when the screen door opens and the driver shifts slightly to put himself in a better position to block his companion if needed. Anne holds both her hands gently out at her sides, fingers spread in the most unobtrusive indication of non-threatening behavior she can manage. They don't need to know right now that she has two decent sized blades hidden on her body. She highly doubts she'd be able to get anywhere near either of them if her intention had been to attack. Both of their postures indicate a hyper awareness that only a soldier, or an assassin, has. Their body language also fairly radiates with wariness and fatigue so that she understands immediately why Clint wanted them here.

When the two men reach up almost simultaneously to remove their sunglasses Anne does everything she can think of to bite back a curse. Steve Rogers isn't very hard to recognize once she can see those bluer than blue eyes, which means that the man standing beside him has to be James Barnes. Clint had saddled her with Captain America and the Winter Soldier and they needed her help so obviously that she wouldn't even consider turning them away. Anne's pretty good at making the best out of odd situations so she smiles slightly and takes another couple of steps forward, finally coming directly into the sunlight at the very top of the steps.

"Well that certainly explains Clint's ambiguity." She says, trying to break the tension of this first greeting by throwing her friend under the metaphorical bus. The small jibe does make her feel better, even if the men before her don't understand. "Welcome to Shadow Rose Farm, gentlemen."


	2. Closer to the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein there is camping, planning, and the possibility of banjos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I've had an interesting run of luck over the past two weeks. All of the stuff in this chapter technically takes place before the end of the first chapter. Next chapter will be actual interaction between our favorite super soldiers and Anne.

 

 

#### Saturday, August 27, West Virginia, 7:15 am

James Barnes is used to waking up all at once. Years of military training and Russian conditioning have made sure that he is never less than fully aware of his surroundings or else there are consequences. So when his brain refuses to snap into immediate focus when the dream drags him out of sleep, he instinctively panics. Muscles prepare to tense but then he realizes that his body is responding just as slowly as his mind and he has trouble drawing breath through the instantaneous fear that floods his system. The adrenaline surge overrides some of the lethargy and he can hear a voice saying his name while an arm is wrapped around his chest. It isn't the words that finally snap him out of the beginning anxiety attack but rather the well known smell of fresh cotton and ocean that causes his body to go completely limp in the other man's hold.

"Stevie?" James gasps, trying to turn around to face his friend but winces at the sharp pinch of pain coming from his ribs.

"Yeah, Buck, you're safe. I've got you." The blonde says, helping him ease his body down onto his back and leaning over him so he doesn't pull the stitches he now remembers he has.

Bucky lays still, letting his breathing slow down as his brain catches up with being awake. He hears birdsong and the mattress under him is much too uncomfortable to be one of Stark's. The assassin catches sight of how close in the walls are and frowns up at the blonde. "Where are we?"

"Dunmore, West Virginia." Steve answers and there's a look on his face that gives away the fact that he's uneasy about James' reaction to that statement. The younger man's frown deepens as he tries to bring up any recollection of why they would be in West Virginia. There's nothing in his memories but the med bay and some shouting.

"Why?" Bucky asks, not liking the way Steve flinches at the question. "What's going on, punk? And why do I feel like dog turds?"

"Doc thought it would be best if you slept an extra day. They had to put you under when you kept tearing through the stitches. That building falling on top of you was pretty bad news." Steve's eyes shifted sideways, an easy tell that he wasn't necessarily okay with everything that had happened. Bucky keeps frowning, knowing eventually the whelp will crack in the extended silence. "You got hurt three days ago. We're on our way to Tennessee."

James knows Steve better than anyone and can see the tick in his cheek as he firms his jaw after that statement. It's something the other man does when he's gearing up to have to defend a stupid decision. Now James thinks he'll actually get something from this stilted conversation but it annoys him that he has to drag the information on of his friend one short sentence at a time.

"What's in Tennessee?" James asks, pushing up carefully so that Steve can slide a pillow behind him to get him sitting more or less upright in the cramped space that he now concludes is some sort of enclosure over the mattress they're sleeping on in the back of a truck. It doesn't quite set off his claustrophobia but it's a close thing.

"Clint has a friend who owns a farm down there." Steve sighs, finally realizing he can't continue to skirt the issue. "She's offered us a place to stay for a while."

Bucky lets that declaration filter into his brain for a second. "So you're saying that we left the Tower while I was still injured and knocked out to go on vacation?"

"No!" Steve's response was immediately defensive, before he stuttered through a better explanation. "Well, maybe, not really? It was mostly Clint's idea, but Natasha agreed with him. Though I think there might be something weird with that. It's just that I didn't know if you'd agree. Clint thought that if we waited too long there might be some other fight that would come up and I wouldn't be able to say no. He's probably right. All we do is fight and I don't think saying yes to another battle was going to be good for anyone."

Because he knew Steve so well, he could immediately figure out what the punk wasn't actually telling him. Captain America may be the public embodiment of doing what was right all the time, but his pal Steve Rogers was still just that scared skinny kid from Brooklyn and didn't always want to admit it. If dragging him down to the middle of nowhere was going to make Steve Rogers happy then James Barnes could be okay with being swept along.

"I guess we're going to Tennessee then." Bucky finally said, glad when Steve's shoulders dropped some of the tension they'd been obviously carrying. "But I'm not staying in the back of this truck until we get there. It's worse than sleeping on rocks."

 

#### Friday, August 26, New York, 3:30 pm

Clint is kneeling in the back of his pickup truck wrestling sheets over the beat up mattress he sometimes uses when he can't fly from point A to point B when Natasha finally manages to track him down in the Tower's well appointed garage. She listens to him curse as he knocks both his knuckles and the top of his head against metal more than once. Finally, he starts crawling backwards out of the truck and she makes sure he sees her nonchalantly sharpening a small blade from her seat on the hood of Tony's three and a half million dollar Lykan HyperSport.

"Better not let Stark catch you up there." Clint says and before Natasha can answer him the elevator dings letting them know that Steve is there. 

The super soldier appears carrying two military duffel bags over one shoulder, his other hand hovering over the gurney that Bruce Banner is pushing toward them. Natasha shakes her head at the scene. No matter how many times Bruce argues that he's not technically a physician he still ends up taking point with most of the Avengers medical needs. As they come closer she can hear him giving Steve a list of brief instructions to go with the pages of printouts the doctor is using to gesture with in his left hand.

"The sedative should keep him out until tomorrow. When he wakes up keep an eye on the stitches, they can come out Sunday but _not_ if he pulls them out again before then." Steve is nodding and the look on his face very clearly indicates that Bucky won't be tearing out any more sutures even if Steve has to knock him unconscious for the entire drive. 

"Okay. Truck's all set." Clint breaks in, stepping forward with his own stack of papers. Natasha stays where she is to keep and eye on everything while the three men carefully load Bucky into the back of the truck and make sure there are pillows buffering him in case his weight shifts while in motion. Once Bruce wheels the gurney back into the elevator she slides off the sports car and hovers slightly behind Clint.

"Map and written directions for once you get into Smith County are all here." Clint hands Steve a large manila envelope. "I've made reservations at two campgrounds along the route. They're small places but clean and family run. There's a letter in there for Anne. Make sure you give it to her first thing."

"Anne?" Their leader asks and Natasha rolls her eyes at Clint. He's been a little too closed mouthed on this whole plan of his.

"Anne Rose owns the farm." Clint replies succinctly. "She's expecting you Sunday afternoon."

Seeing the dubious look on Steve's face, Natasha steps in quickly. "Anne is a good woman, Steve. Just relax and be yourself. Her home is the safest place outside of this tower that either of us know."

It's the most information Natasha has ever really offered directly and she resists the urge to warn the other man to behave. Steve nods, eyes darting between the two of them in speculation. It's obvious he's noticed how vague they've both been on the subject of where he and Bucky are going but Natasha knows that he trusts them and won't push the issue. 

As the truck pulls out of the underground garage, Clint slips an arm casually around Nat's waist and they watch until the doors slide closed again.

"I hope this idea of yours is going to work." Natasha says, leaning a bit of her weight against the older man.

"It might just be a miracle." Clint answers with a smirk, not quite able to hide the lingering worry from her. Together they turn back to the elevators. They've got their own trip to prepare for.

 

#### Sunday, August 28, Tennessee, 12:45 pm

Steve isn't quite sure he's reading Clint's directions right after they get off TN-264, especially since they've been driving for 20 minutes without seeing any other cars or signs of civilization. He peers at the paper again, but Clint's chicken scratch handwriting still makes no sense. Without a word he hands it over to Bucky who squints at it before clearing his throat.

"Turn right at the crypt. Drive three miles then turn left at the hanging tree. Take another left onto the dirt road. House is four miles past the gate. Is he serious?" Bucky says, looking out the windshield for anything that could even remotely be considered a crypt.

The fields they've been passing get smaller until Steve would tentatively consider saying they're driving though forest if the trees were just a little closer together. Finally he spots a stone structure up ahead just off the two lane road. He slows the truck to a stop and both of them just stare at the honest to God crypt complete with carved angel on top, head bowed and hands folded in prayer. 

"Okay then," Steve says, "turn right at the crypt." 

Bucky shudders beside him but when Steve glances over the other man is looking down at the directions. "Three miles then left at the 'hanging tree'." He repeats. "I'm not sure I want to see why it's called that."

Steve makes a strangled sound, eyes darting from the odometer to the road and surrounding area. It's not that he's never been out of the city, the Howling Commandos had camped out in plenty of countryside, but this type of rural makes him vaguely uncomfortable. There's not enough open land and everything is a bit too unfamiliar. Bucky casually puts a hand on his knee and squeezes, reminding Steve that he's not out here alone and even injured the other man had his back.

Three miles pass quicker than he expected before they're rolling slowly past a large oak tree right at the corner of the left turn. Steve's stomach actually rebels when he catches sight of the frayed ropes dangling from several of the branches. Bucky's next words dispel some of the growing tension but the older man is seriously starting to regret letting Clint talk him into this.

"What was the name of that movie Sam made us watch a couple months back? The one with the banjos? Sure we ain't in that part of the South?"

"God I hope not." Steve replies, taking the final left onto the first dirt road they get to. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath as the truck jolts harshly on the rougher terrain. "Sorry."

Bucky doesn't answer, just closes his eyes and tightens his grip on Steve's leg. It's over another mile into a true forest before Steve finally sees the gate. Before he can get out to see if there's a call box or something a light on the truck's dashboard blinks twice and the metal barrier slides to the right, slotting quietly into the stone that frames each side of the road. Beyond the stone is what looks like a six foot iron fence and he's surprised at how well the structure blends into the surrounding woods. Once they drive through, the light on the dash blinks again and Steve watches as the gate clinks softly back into place.

The road is pitted and rough only until they clear the first curve then, while still dirt, the surface is firmly packed and worn smoother than expected given the drive up to this point. Bucky relaxes his grip but doesn't remove his hand entirely. Steve is inclined to think it odd that the woods around them seem to get brighter the longer they drive but when they finally clear the trees he finds himself staring in absolute shock. The sight that greets the men is not the run down, dilapidated farmhouse they were both expecting but rather an intricate two story craftsman wood and stone home with matching outbuildings and wide open space for quite an area around everything before the trees close back in.

"This is... wow." Steve says, at a loss to describe how pretty the property is as they pull in next to a small blue car not far from the houses front porch.

"Unexpected." Bucky agrees quietly, eyes already scanning the front of the building through the truck's windshield.

Steve slides out of the truck, very aware of the shifting shadows on the porch. There's little chance that their arrival has gone unnoticed. Bucky waits until he's almost around the hood before opening the passenger door and shifting his weight to the edge of the seat so Steve can help him out of the high cab. Steve lets Bucky lean against him for a second before the assassin's attention shifts over his shoulder to movement from the house. The screen door barely creaks as it opens and a small feminine figure steps out on to the porch. Her hands are relaxed at her sides, palms slightly spread, but Steve still can't see much of her as she moves slowly toward them. The part of his brain that has been trained through battle quickly profiles what he can. She's about five foot two, small waist but nice curves. Her dark hair is confined tightly back and she's not wearing shoes. 

With a shift they both take off their sunglasses to get a clearer view and the woman hesitates just enough to be noticeable before stepping all the way into the bright patch of sunlight at the top of the porch steps. Her hair isn't dark, it's molten. An auburn that looks brown until the sunlight hits it and it sparks fire around her head. Steve feels something like a punch to the gut and his breath leaves him in a rush when she smiles and drops her palms completely to rub them against her jean covered legs. Judging by the slight shift beside him, Bucky is having the same reaction. He resists the urge to turn his head and check, afraid that the vision before them will somehow disappear between one blink and the next. 

When she makes some sarcastic comment about Clint in a voice pitched low enough to bring to mind the smoke filled jazz clubs he and Bucky used to spend time in before the war, Steve's heart actually stutters for a beat or two and Bucky's left hand tightens just a bit against his side. This woman is certainly not what either of them expected to find on a farm in the back of nowhere and it isn't until her words actually register in his addled brain that Steve realizes they've all been a bit surprised. It could prove for an interesting period of recuperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone raise their metaphorical hands if they can figure out where I snuck in the Princess Bride reference (because I'm a geek and it wouldn't leave me alone until I worked it in).
> 
>  
> 
> As it will always be, constructive criticism is welcome, flames will be extinguished. Also, I went back and fixed some minor grammatical errors in Chapter 1. My brain doesn't always catch things until the third or fourth read through, sorry about that.


	3. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint writes a letter, the boys have a suspicion, and there is JARVIS.

_**Dear Annie,** _

_**I'm sorry I couldn't give you more warning about who was showing up on your doorstep. By now you have probably figured out at least a portion of how bad a shape they are really in. What Barnes has been through makes my time with Loki look like a tropical vacation. And Cap isn't much better for all that he's been out of the ice for five years now. He never expected to come out of it in the first place and was thrown right into the thick of things within weeks of waking up. They've both done nothing but fight one battle after another. There's been no time to grieve and little time to heal. You're the only person I can trust them to right now.** _

_**Barnes was hurt pretty bad on our last mission, he's healing but there's stitches that will need to come out when they get to you. The doctors recommended he stay sedated at night to keep the nightmares to a minimum and he's gonna be tranqued to the gills for the first day of the drive to give him an extra bit of uninterrupted healing. See if you can work your magic there.** _

_**I put some money in your account after we talked Friday morning. Torque back on your pride and use it for anything you need. They're serum enhanced super soldiers that can easily eat you out of house and home. Even with the amounts you usually cook. You won't be able to call and argue with me on this either. We're going dark almost as soon as Steve pulls out. He doesn't know, so please don't mention it.** _

_**I made a promise that you'd always be safe and I'm stretching that a bit by sending the two of them to you. Gonna take care of some loose ends that should never have been left untied. I'll try to leave messages when I can through JARVIS, if you need anything he's available to you. As always.** _

_**Stay safe. See you in a few months.** _

_**Clint** _

 

#### Sunday, August 28, 2:00 pm

Anne holds the folded letter in her left hand as she looks out her bedroom window at the vegetable garden and orchard, not really seeing it but taking comfort from the familiar view. Her right hand is running rhythmically up and down a chain around her neck in a nervous gesture directly tied to worrying about one Clinton Francis Barton. He rarely ever writes letters to keep her up to date as his handwriting is almost illegible. Except for this one. Anne thinks that he made a serious effort and that makes the worry even worse. Having people she cares about in dangerous situations is not something she ever wants to get used to. 

Setting the letter carefully aside, Anne scrolls through the numbers in her cell phone coming to a stop on an entry in the H section. It's a gag entry, like Clint's, and it keeps her contacts private at all times. She opens a messaging window instead of initiating a voice call. 

Anne doesn't have to wait more than ten seconds for an answer.

_(How much did the idiot put in my bank account?)_ Anne doesn't have to wait more than ten seconds for an answer.

_((My records show that a deposit in the amount of $15,000 was made to your checking account from Agent Barton on Friday, August 26 at 7:02 am EST.))_

_(Definitely an idiot. That would cover food for the entire Tennessee National Guard for the next three months. How much do these two eat?)_

_((Enhanced metabolisms generally require between five thousand and seven thousand calories daily dependent upon activity level.))_

"Christ." Anne mutters at the text, "I'm gonna need a few more hens."

_(Thanks, J. You're a gem.)_

_((You are most welcome, Miss Anne.))_

Anne closes the window and sets the letter aside in her nightstand drawer before tucking the chain back in her shirt. She would have to make some phone orders to a couple of her neighbors before next weekend's market but right now she had more important things to deal with. Namely an injured house guest that may or may not actually let her help him.

Anne crosses to the far side of the house and taps softly on the door to Steve's room, hesitant to disturb either man if they were managing to rest but more willing to talk to him first given what she knows regarding Bucky's history. Plus she suspects that they may both be in one room anyway if she was reading the subtle signals correctly in the short time she had been around the two men so far. Anne can just hear a soft shuffling and the blonde opens the door just enough to allow him to ease his body into the hallway with her, forcing her to take a step back to avoid contact. 

"I'm sorry if I woke you." Anne apologizes, surveying the rumpled hair and unbuttoned jeans. "I finished reading Clint's letter and he said that James has some stitches that need tending. I can check them and take them out before dinner if he's up to it."

"You didn't." Steve says, dragging a hand through his short hair in a gesture Anne guesses is more absentminded than frustrated. Maybe. "I can ask if he'll be comfortable with that. Bucky's not very fond of doctor types, so he might not want help. No offense." 

The last bit was obviously an afterthought considering the slight pause and Anne struggles not to be offended by the polite brush off she's been given. "I'm hardly the 'doctor type'. The offer's there. Let James know to find me if he wants."

Without another word Anne turns and walks away, irritated despite her best effort not to let his dismissal bother her. She knows she had somehow rubbed the Good Captain wrong upon their arrival, saw it in the instant after she disregarded his introduction of "Bucky" and waited calmly for the other man to whisper a firm "James" on his own. He would either get over the perceived slight or not. Until then, she'll do what Clint expected her to. Take care of his friends the way she's always taken care of the people who need taking care of. Which means that Anne needs to start dinner and regain the calm from a few hours ago before she ran the men off without intending to.

 

#### Sunday, August 28, 2:45 pm

James follows the sound of music into the kitchen. The song playing softly was vaguely familiar but his attention is drawn to the woman at the counter chopping vegetables. There's three chickens on a cutting board behind her and she's talking into a Bluetooth as she works. He leans against the door frame and waits for her to notice him. 

"No, definitely six hens. My coop has the capacity and I'm gonna need the extra eggs." She pauses for a few seconds, a look of annoyance crossing her face. "You know better, Daryll. I don't spread my private business around. Can you sell me the birds or not? _Thank you._ I'll see you Saturday."

She takes the Bluetooth out of her ear and tosses it across the counter. "Moron." Anne mutters before she catches sight of him. James straightens slowly and moves all the way into the room, watching for any signs that she might be uncomfortable. He can't read much in her face as her eyes track his movements, but can tell enough to know that she's wary just by the way she's holding herself slightly stiff. He doesn't get any hint of fear though and it makes him relax just a little bit.

"Dinner won't be until six." Anne says tentatively once he stops directly across the island from her. "There's cold cuts if you'd like a sandwich."

"Thank you." James replies with manners drilled into him decades ago by his mother. "But maybe, could you take my stitches out first? They itch."

Anne gives him a soft smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Go make yourself comfortable in the living room and I'll be out as soon as I put the chickens in the oven."

James picks a spot on the couch that keeps his left side open but still allows him a view of the entire room and both doorways. The furnishings are an unusual mix of antique and modern that reflects what he's seen in the rest of the house. The television takes up a good portion of one wall with movies filling built-in shelves on both sides but there's also a record player in one corner and a spinning wheel in another, close to the fireplace. The covered wicker basket next to it leads James to believe the wheel actually sees use and isn't just a decorative element. He also takes note of the two large cushions covered in animal hair and wonders why he hasn't seen the dogs yet.

Steve steps into the room from the doorway leading to their side of the house just as Anne comes in from the other carrying a wooden tray with two fluffy white towels draped over her arm. James watches quietly as she eyes his friend carefully, shoulders pulling inward in an obviously unconscious gesture as if she's expecting a blow of some kind. Steve's frown as she turns to set the tray on the coffee table lets Bucky know that the gesture didn't go unnoticed by either man.

"Where?" Anne asks, gesturing toward James. He lays his right hand against his ribs in quiet answer. "Shirt off then, please."

Bucky hesitates but Anne is already turning away to shift a floor lamp closer for visibility. He tugs the long sleeve shirt off and holds himself very still as she turns back around. James sees her eyes skim quickly over the metal arm before zeroing in on the angry red lines that take up most of his side.

"How long ago did you do this?" She asks as she kneels in front of him and reaches for a pair of blue nitrile gloves.

"No gloves." James says, sharper than intended. Anne pauses and looks directly up into his face for a long couple of seconds. Without a word she sets the gloves aside and reaches for a dark green bottle instead. She pours some of the liquid onto her hands and rubs vigorously. James is expecting the smell of alcohol but instead it's something that smells crisp and light.

"Witch hazel." Anne mutters without being prompted. She dries her hands on the smaller towel before folding it and tipping the bottle against a clean portion of the cloth. It doesn't sting at all and is warm when she uses it to clean the entire length of the wound. "How long?" Anne repeats, not looking up again.

"Four days." Steve says from where he'd taken a seat on the other half of the sectional. If Bucky hadn't been watching her closely he would have missed Anne's flinch at the sound of the other man's voice.

James frowns as she repeats the cleaning process on a pair of tiny scissors and short handled tweezers. He doesn't like the tightness he sees in the set of Anne's shoulders, but is helpless to change it. Even with the added tension Steve's presence seems to cause Anne moves deftly, her hands completely steady when she lays one gently against his skin beside the smallest of the stitches. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling of heat that courses through him the instant she touches him. She shoots him a questioning look from under her eyelashes but he shakes his head and she turns back to her inspection of the wounds.

"They're healing nicely." Anne speaks softly, her tone soothing his raw nerves. "Is there any aching or sharp pains?"

"Not worth mentioning." James replies in an offhand manner and she immediately freezes with the scissors poised in the first set of sutures.

"If it's there at all it's worth mentioning." Somehow he made her angry but he doesn't know how to apologize so instead he simply answers her question, feeling as if his ma had just given him her disappointed face.

"The muscles jump and pinch." With a slight nod she deftly snips along the first row of stitching, switching out scissors for tweezers within seconds. As her mouth moves quietly with each piece of thread she tugs gently out of his skin, Bucky realizes that Anne's counting. By the time she has them all out she's also frowning so deeply that he has to deliberately suppress the urge to apologize again. This woman makes him feel like a green twit.

"One hundred and ninety." Anne says, folding the towel with the suture threads. "Don't move."

When she steps out of the room, Bucky looks across at Steve with a raised eyebrow. He doesn't even need to ask the question on the tip of his tongue before the blond is pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head slightly.

"I swear, Buck, I didn't say nothing that would get that kind of reaction." Steve's accent comes out of his mouth in a pleading tone that James recognizes from all the times his friend has put his foot in it but is too clueless to figure out how.

"Gonna have to fix this, Stevie." James says sternly, seconds before Anne comes back into the room carrying a metal tin and some sort of heavy quilted item with velcro straps.

"The problem you're having," she begins, oblivious to the undercurrents between the two men, "is that the muscles are healing faster than your nerve endings and it's causing everything to tighten up."

Anne opens the tin and scoops up a slightly orange paste onto her fingertips. As she reaches toward his side, the sharp smell hit's his enhanced senses and without thinking he tries to grab her wrist to stop her forward momentum. Anne jerks back violently before he can make contact and James drops his hand to his thigh. She's visibly trembling with her head down so that he can't make eye contact ad it's as if a light switch flips on inside his brain. It's not just something Steve has said or done to make her scared of him. She's reacting as if she honestly is expecting to get hit. It's a plainly conditioned response that James finds disturbingly familiar. Steve's clenched fists are a pretty good sign that he's come to the same conclusion.

"Smells weird." Bucky says, trying to act like nothing had happened.

Anne takes a deep breath and he can see her regathering herself when the set of her shoulders changes again. "I'm sorry." The words are just loud enough to not be considered a whisper. "It's a salve I make from an old liniment recipe. It will help relax the muscles."

James leans back into the cushions and lifts his arm so she can reach his side again. Without another word she smooths a thin layer of the paste onto his skin then wraps the fabric heating pad expertly around his torso. Warmth spreads slowly through his chest and he can't help closing his eyes at the wonderful feeling. He can feel the muscles slowly loosening and his body sinks deeper into the sofa.

"That's right." Anne whispers softly. "You can relax just like that until the warmth starts to fade."

Bucky doesn't open his eyes to acknowledge her but can still tell she's quickly placing items back on the tray. By the time Anne leaves, with Steve watching her retreating form speculatively, James is already half asleep.


	4. Tentative Overtures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Steve should just get used to the taste of his own foot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I'm buying a house, so between the packing and the moving, and the paperwork I've been having a bit of a hard time getting everyone to cooperate. This isn't quite what I intended in the grand scheme of things but the real forward motion SHOULD start next chapter. Just bear with me through the chaos!

 

 

#### Monday, August 29, 5:15 am

Anne sits on her porch swing, nursing a cup of peppermint tea and watching her toes flirt with the red and purple lights cast by the Moroccan lanterns hanging on either side of the porch steps that she lit after the sun set the night before. She would snuff the candles after sunrise in about an hour but for now she enjoys the play of colors across the wood, the brush of Conn's fur from where the dogs are draped together under her, and the silence of the early morning.

The screen door creaks softly but she doesn't turn to look at Steve when he comes to stand a couple of feet away. "Coffee is prepped in the kitchen, you can just turn the stove on under the pot."

He doesn't answer, merely continues to watch her as she rocks gently with the warm breeze. Anne lets the silence stretch until it goes past the point of being uncomfortable before she finally turns to look at the super soldier with a raised eyebrow. Steve looks down and shifts slightly but Anne waits him out.

"How did you know?" He asks abruptly but Anne can't answer such a nebulous question. It takes several seconds before he speaks again. "About Bucky's name. How did you know he didn't want to be introduced that way?"

Anne sighs and tilts her head back over the rail of the swing, adding the pull of her braid over the dog's backs to her list of sensations that currently ground her as she gestures for Steve to sit on the bench directly across from her. When he crosses in front of her Myst lifts her head from over her mate's shoulder and her house guest flinches in surprise. The grey dog had been all but hidden behind Conn's larger bulk and Anne still hasn't officially introduced them all, though she explained about the dog's presence on the property and how they had free access to the house and lands at almost all times. She watches Steve watch the pair warily now that he knows they're there. It amuses her slightly that Captain America is so unsettled by a couple of sight hounds.

Anne doesn't speak immediately. She's formulating in her head the best way to explain it without upsetting Steve further. Trying to find that perfect balance between patient and patronizing. She knows he's smarter than he lets on, but she also has a pretty good idea that James Buchanan Barnes is a giant blind spot where Steve Rogers is concerned. Anne completely understands that since she has her own blind spots sometimes where former SHIELD assassins are concerned.

"When someone asks you who you are, what do you tell them?" Anne asks, deciding that engaging Steve is going to better than simply lecturing him.

"Steve Rogers." He answers with a confused frown.

"And if someone introduces you first as Captain America and not as Steve how does that make you feel?" Anne's leading him through the thought process as gently as she can manage on less than five hours of sleep.

"Objectified, as if it could be anyone in the suit and not really me." Steve says, looking startled that he gave her an honest answer without hesitation. "But that's not what I do to Bucky."

"No," Anne reassures him quickly, "but when you add up everything that's been done to James something as simple as a name can become way more important than you might think."

Anne lets that sink in for a second, leaning over to set her mug down on the ledge next to the swing letting the swaying motion go on for several seconds while Steve continues to frown as he thinks her words over. When she realizes he's still not completely understanding her she puts her feet down and leans her elbows on her thighs.

"With Hydra and the Red Room, James Barnes was nothing more than The Asset, a tool to be used with nothing to anchor him to his humanity. To the wider community he was considered The Winter Soldier, a ghost story used to like tales of the boogie man to scare people. Still not real. History knows him as Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes who gave his life in war time so Captain America could go on to defeat Red Skull. None of those names leave him with any sense of identity. They might have a purpose, but like Captain America they don't represent an actual person." Anne pauses, waiting to see if he's following her logic. The look of startled horror lets her know that he gets it but hasn't ever thought of it like this. "To you, he's Bucky Barnes, and that's okay because he has enough history with you that he knows it's a name filled with affection and friendship and back to the wall gestures that are never going to change, but because of what he's been through he doesn't always think of himself as that guy from Brooklyn that used to drag your scrawny rear end out of fights. I wanted to know who he wants to be without that history to define him. Because when you've spent years having everything you are ripped away, the best way to rebuild is to know you have the power of choice."

Anne stands up, retrieving her mug silently. The dogs trail after her into the house and she's only slightly surprised to see the object of their conversation standing at the end of the hallway. The dogs brush past them both, making a beeline back to the warmth of her bed. Anne tilts her head towards the kitchen and James follows her into the room as she turns the burner on under the coffee pot and the saucepan of oats she has soaking for part of breakfast.

"Thank you." James says quietly. Anne turns and smiles softly over her shoulder.

"He cares about you very much." Anne replies. "He just doesn't quite know how to fix what's been done to you because there's no one for him to fight."

She moves around the room pulling out eggs and bacon and homemade bread. James watches her quietly from the seat he's taken at the island counter but she doesn't feel as if he's intruding as she starts cooking. Once the percolator has stopped it's peculiar burbling, Anne pours a mug and sets it in front of James with a bowl of sugar and some cream. He adds two spoons of the sugar and ignores the cream so she puts the pitcher back in the fridge.

Steve wanders in just as she's sliding the pounds of bacon into the oven so Anne pours him a cup of coffee and watches a repeat of James' actions with the addition of just enough cream to slightly change the liquid's color. The two men sit calmly but it's not quite as comfortable as it had been just minutes before. Still, Anne scrambles a full dozen eggs and pours them into a large pan with a handful of shredded over a medium flame in silence. While the eggs start to set, she slices the bread and lays out butter, jam and honey as well as plates and utensils for both men.

"You're not eating?" James asks after a few seconds of just staring at the plates. Anne shakes her head as she pulls the bacon from the convection oven then gives he eggs a quick stir.

"Got chores." She tells him. "I'll grab some oats before I leave for work."

"Work?" Steve queries and with her back to them Anne misses the frowns on both their faces.

"Uh huh." Anne places four slices of bread in the toaster before turning to set the plate of bacon in front of them. "I work seconds at the vehicle assembly plant about an hour from here. Be there ten years end of October."

"You build cars?" Steve asks incredulously. Anne's face goes completely blank and James winces slightly.

"SUVs actually." Her voice is as stiff as her expression. "Got three on the line now but I built that truck you drove up in the year Clint bought it."

The toast pops and Anne turns away to spoon the eggs into a serving bowl. She's set the remainder of the food in front of them and wiping her hands before either of them can even attempt a recovery from Steve's inadvertent faux pas.

"Leave the dishes, I'll take care of them when I'm done." Anne leaves the kitchen at a steady pace that doesn't quite cross the line into a run, coming just short of slamming her bedroom door.

She stares into the mirror over her vanity and takes several deep breaths to get control of her temper. Sexism is a regular thing in her line of work but normally it's a bit more discreet outside the plant. Steve probably didn't really mean anything by it considering what she knows about him from history but it doesn't sting any less. Once she feels her pulse start to slow, Anne strips off her cardigan and pajamas, trading them for a grey long sleeve Henley and beat up jeans. She laces her favorite leather bracers up to her elbows, followed by her work boots and pulls her hair through a Maxima ball cap before braiding it. Anne checks the coverage of the shirt and heads back toward the front of the house just as the sun touches the bottom of the porch stairs.

Anne stands between the lanterns with the dogs on either side of her and waits for the light to come the rest of the way up the steps before snuffing the flames and heading toward the barn to start her long day of things to do.

 

#### Thursday, September 1, 11:50 pm

Steve is sitting on the sofa reading when he hears the sound of Anne's engine coming toward the house. The dogs pick their heads up from where they are laying on the pillows against the wall and thump their tails slowly. A glance at the clock confirms that she's a little late tonight and Steve closes his book and heads to the kitchen to put on the tea kettle. He knows from the past week's experience that Anne's not likely to come inside for at least another hour or more but he's hoping he can get her to slow down long enough for him to make another attempt at fixing the mess he's managed to make of their stilted relationship. Steve is not happy with how uncomfortable she is whenever he's around. 

Anne is lighting the lanterns on the porch, her voice singing out softly in what Steve thinks might be Italian when he steps up to the open door. The shift in her posture is subtle be Steve's looking for it when she tenses at his proximity. He stands inside the screen and waits for her to finish the nightly ritual. When she's quiet and staring into the dark, Steve steps outside. 

"It's beautiful." Steve remarks, coming up beside her and holding out the mug he'd prepared. Vanilla chamomile with just a bit of honey. Anne accepts the mug and sips quietly for a few minutes. Just when Steve is sure that she's not going to answer him she speaks softly, still staring into the yard.

"It's called The Prayer." Her voice is so quiet that it's only Steve's enhanced hearing that allows him to catch her words. "My great-grandmother taught it to me. It's meant to guide your loved ones safely home."

There's something about the expression on Anne's face that unsettles Steve. It's as if she's gone a million miles away in her head and is both saddened and infuriated by whatever she's remembering. He shifts uneasily, not sure if he should try to break her reminiscence. His movement draws her attention back to the present before he can speak.

"It makes me feel as if I'm _doing_ something." Anne says. "When reality is I can only wait. And worry."

Steve wants to ask who she's lighting the candles for but doubts she'd answer. He understands by her reaction just now that he's brought up a very sensitive subject. Instead, he slides his thumbs in his belt loops and glances at her out of the corner of his eye, gauging her mood.

"Sometimes, just knowing that there's someone waiting who cares enough to worry makes all the difference." Steve says, remembering briefly what it felt like when he thought he no longer had that and some of the risks he took because of it.

Anne turns her head and looks at him as if she knows exactly what he's thinking. Her next words only reinforce the feeling he gets that she understands on a level she'll probably never admit to. It makes Steve even more determined to fix things between them. 

"And sometimes picking up the pieces when there's nobody left is so much harder than making it out alive." Before he could say anything else in response, she's handing the half empty mug back to him and moving off the porch. "Thank you."

Steve watches her as she moves away from the house. Just before she leaves the last edge of light cast by the glowing lanterns Anne turns back to him with a sad smile. "I know you're only trying to help, but sometimes constantly worrying can cause more harm than good. Get James off the sedatives the doctors gave him to sleep. They're trapping him inside his nightmares and he's only going to get worse if he can't find a way to actually deal with the issues instead of suppressing them."

She disappears into the darkness of the yard, blending in so well that not even Steve would be able to find her if it wasn't for the lighter fur of Myst keeping pace beside her. He doesn't know where the non sequitur came from but he's learning that when it comes to Anne Rose, nothing is ever quite straight forward. He'd talk to Bucky about it in the morning.

 

#### Saturday, September 3, 5:00 am

Bucky leaves Steve to finish his shower and get dressed while he follows his nose into the kitchen where the pot of coffee is still arm on the stove. He pours himself a cup, listening to the quiet of the house for a few seconds before going in search of Anne. There's no sign of her out the front of the property so Bucky moves around the building until he hears the low growl of a diesel engine and sees the glow of flood lights back beyond the small orchard. There's a big Ram truck pulled up beside what Bucky had assumed was a storage shed when he'd done his first survey of the property the day after they'd arrived. As he got closer he hears Anne cursing a blue streak and rushes forward to see what's wrong.

The woman in question is trying to lift a box almost as big as she is and Bucky nearly drops his coffee in his haste to relieve her of the load. Anne starts slightly when his hands appear around the cardboard but as soon as he has a firm grip she steps back and flexes her shoulders.

"Thanks, James." Anne gestures to the open bed of the truck where there are already a dozen similar boxes stacked along each side, leaving the folding seat in the center completely clear.

"What's all this?" Bucky asks once he's got the box into position. He's not sure how she managed to lift the others if they all weigh the same. 

"The inventory for my stall at market." Anne replies. "I've got my regular stock of creams, lotions, potions and the like, plus about half a dozen special orders that have come in over the last month or so."

"Didn't realize you were selling today too." James says, trying to wrap his brain around the sheer amount of work that must go into that much of her inventory.

"Yup. Every Saturday I don't have to work the plant." She gestures over to a pile that has yet to be loaded and continues to talk as she lifts another box into place. "There probably won't be anything left after we're done for the day.

His respect for her rises even more now that he realizes why she always seems to be going on full speed for nearly twenty-four hours of the day. Once the last of the boxes is safely stowed, James looks into the building, taking in what looks like a cross between a chemistry lab and a simple kitchen. There are neatly labeled bottles and jars on several sets of bookshelves and the air smells of something earthy and pungent. Anne comes up beside him and turns off both the flood light and the room's overhead lights. They're left with just the light of the trucks headlights pointing in the wrong direction and James can't help but think how intimate it could be right now if Anne trusted them just a little bit more. He wants badly to reach out to her but knows it's not a good idea.

"I have to get changed and we'll be heading out by six the latest. I'm glad you and Steve decided to come. The people in Smith County are a pretty great bunch." Anne says, breaking the mood. "We'll grab breakfast once we're at the market, several of the farmers that come out do homemade donuts and pastries, so grab some fruit or something to tide you over."

Bucky stood still and watched her walk back to the house where she let herself in through her veranda doors. He took in the loaded truck, the now locked still room, and the path Anne had just traveled and wondered how one spunky slip of a woman could keep surprising him with every new thing he learned. Or if he'd ever be able to take her in his arms and tell her how wonderful she was.


	5. The Winds of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is social interaction off the farm, more awkwardness, and some serious conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not given up on this story!! I actually have through part of chapter 7 written out, but my computer and I have been at odds in regards to getting things typed out for posting.
> 
> Some of this chapter was quite difficult as I kept thinking that the tone between Bucky and Steve just wasn't working. It took a few rewrites before I was happy with what I finally got. Also, I got a review that left me feeling very uncertain about continuing this work. Please let me remind everyone that I'm working to develop ALL of the characters and relationships in this story which means you're going to be seeing quite a bit of Anne since it's mostly her story that is unknown. There is no cannon (or head cannon) for her. If you want some fast meet then hookup story THIS STORY WILL NOT BE FOR YOU. For the rest of you that have been asking when I'm going to update and encouraging me with your words of support. THANK YOU!!
> 
> Add to all of this a new house, a new work shift, and several college exams and you have the reasons for this long break. So I offer my humblest apologies. I hope that it won't take me long to type out chapter 6, but I'm still working on chapter 7 as it's coming in fits and starts. If I ever even consider not finishing this story I will let everyone know but as of now I have so much in my head about these three that I have no intention any longer of letting it go.
> 
> ***ALSO PLEASE TAKE NOTE: I made some small content changes in Chapter 4 to make the progression of the story work a little bit better and be more believable in later chapters in regards to the feelings that Bucky and Steve will be developing toward Anne. Just a few lines here and there but you might want to go back and check them out.***

 

#### Saturday, September 3, 10:45 am

Steve leans back against one of the many steel pillars surrounding the semi-enclosed series of pavilions where the local farmers have set up their booths and tables. Anne had told them that they only use the county fair grounds on holiday weekends but with the amount of vendors here Steve can't imagine how they would fit into a smaller location. The area is bustling with people who all seem to know each other and are just as content to spend time visiting with their neighbors as they are shopping or selling their wares. In some ways it reminds him of market days back in Brooklyn before the war. The feeling of familiarity is soothing even though he remains alert in this new situation.

Bucky, always more social than Steve, is in the next enclosure quietly gesturing to a wrinkled old man over what appears to be a basket of plums and Anne is manning her own tables about twenty feet away from where Steve has stationed himself for the time being. She's more relaxed here, though still guarded. Steve sees her scanning the crowd casually every so often, pausing minutely on each open pathway as well as on him and Bucky. When Steve can catch her eye she smiles just a little bit to acknowledge that, yes, she's doing her her own recognizance of the crowded area and is completely unapologetic over the fact.

Steve wonders why she feels the need to be so hyper aware all the time. Even if his and Bucky's suspicions are true it wouldn't entirely explain the depth of her constant attention to her surroundings. It's just one more piece to the intriguing puzzle that she presents.

"Miss Rose! Miss Rose!" Steve follows Anne's line of sight to a small blonde blur running at top speed across the concrete.

Anne makes it around the table just as the little girl launches herself the last three feet between them. Steve is in awe of the first real smile he's seen on her face and the rich, deep laughter when Anne catches the child and spins around several times before tiny legs wrap around her waist. The whole bit of fun has brought them into the open space closer to Steve and he can clearly hear Anne's voice.

"Pretty soon you'll be too big to spin, bug!" Anne's voice is full of affection for the girl, who Steve guesses is probably no more than five or six years old.

"Nuh Uh." Came the affronted response.

Anne readjusts the tiny body to her hip, looking into the crowd with a small frown while her passenger talks a mile a minute into her ear. Steve doesn't know what she's looking for until her expression clears and he sees a heavily pregnant woman making her way through the others with a wicker basket full of produce. Before Steve can step forward to help, Anne whispers something in the girl's ear and sets her down. The child bounds over to where Conn is laying in the sunlight behind the table and Anne rushes to intercept the woman.

"Maggie Mae, look at you!" Anne's tone is full of laughter but there's such a deep sadness in her eyes when she lays her hands on the woman's rounded stomach that Steve is moving toward them before he can consciously register the decision to finally do so.

"Anne." He speaks softly as he steps up behind her and lightly touches the small of her back. Steve is slightly surprised when Anne leans into the contact briefly before turning to block the crowd from bumping the woman, beginning introductions and, at the same time, guiding the woman back to chair set up just a few feet away. Steve immediately relieves the woman of the basket, waving off her instinctive protest.

"Steve, this is Margaret Mary Henson." Once the woman is comfortably settled, Anne steps back and hooks a crate with her foot to act as her own seat. Steve nods politely, setting the basket down beside her. "Steve and his partner are staying with me at the farm for a while."

Steve freezes slightly at Anne's designation of Bucky. He knows instinctively that she doesn't mean the word partner in any kind of military or law enforcement sense and even though he's been out of the ice and seen some of the progress being made, the part of him rooted in 1930s mentality is terrified that what they are has become so obvious and so casually discussed with strangers. He holds his breath, tensed for flight, until Mrs. Henson smiles widely.

"How wonderful!" The younger woman says. "You and your guy certainly won't find a nicer place than Shadow Rose Farm to spend some down time."

It's not so much the words as it is the look in her eyes that clues Steve into the fact that Margaret Mary Henson is perfectly aware of who he is and yet couldn't care less. The feeling that surges through him at this realization is slightly liberating and for the first time since leaving New York, Steve finally has a guess as to why Clint would send them to this little Tennessee town. Everyone may care about their neighbors but they don't intrude where they aren't invited.

Steve is so lost in his own thoughts that it takes him several minutes to realize that Anne has deftly drawn attention away from his silence and turned the conversation toward the baby and Ms. Henson's health.

"Doc Frye says we're both doing okay." Maggie Mae replies to a question Steve didn't catch. "Told me I need a bit more healthy fats and Vitamin C in my diet. Something about helping boost my iron levels for the last trimester."

Anne nods, already reaching into on of the full boxes she'd stashed under the folding tables. "When you increase the amount of calcium in your diet, it slows the absorption orate of iron in your body. Vitamin C helps even things out. Try this. It's raspberry, hibiscus and rose hips." She sets a tall tea tin into the produce basket and smiles again when the little girl comes up to hug her mother.

"Mommy did you tell her?" The child asks, excited all over again.

"No, Claire." Maggie answers her daughter. "Why don't you go ahead and tell Miss Rose our news?"

Claire practically bounces at her mother's words and turns to face the remaining adults with a grin. "I'm getting a baby brother!"

Anne's response is once again full of joy for the expectant woman though Steve can still see the sorrow lingering underneath it. "That's fantastic! Johnathon must be over the moon."

"I haven't told him yet." Is the almost gleeful response. "He's finally coming home. October 10th. And he's decided to resign his commission."

Anne reaches across and hugs the two Henson females, turning her face away, but not before Steve catches the shine of tears in her eyes. He wants to go to her again, but this time he's pretty sure he wouldn't be welcome. So he stands and waits just on the off chance she gives him some sign that he's needed. If Anne offers so much of herself to anyone that needs it Steve is slowly becoming determined that someone needs to be there to give something back to her. Maybe even two someones.

 

#### Sunday, September 4, 3:06 am

Bucky is standing at the kitchen window watching for movement in the dim lights of the barn when he feels Steve step up behind him, place his chin on his flesh shoulder, and wrap strong arms around his waist. Even though Bucky knows the house is empty and, according to Steve, Anne knows about them he still tenses slightly in surprise at the casual affection they've been keeping behind closed doors for years. When he finally relaxes his weight back into Steve the taller man tightens his grip and shifts to accommodate.

"Nightmares?" Steve asks softly, turning into James's neck slightly.

"Memories." Bucky answers just as quietly, closing his eyes to better enjoy the feeling of Steve's touch.

"You've been restless all week." Steve points out. "Maybe coming off the tranquilizers was a bad idea."

"No." Bucky shakes his head firmly. "Anne was right. I'm tired but I don't feel like I'm out of control like I did before."

"I didn't realize you felt that way." Steve says brokenly after a couple of quiet minutes, tightening his hold almost to the point of being uncomfortable.

Bucky sighs and shifts enough in Steve's arms to get a good look at the blonde. He's bare chested, where James tends to pull on at least a tank top to cover the worst of the scars, with thin flannel sleep pants riding low on his hips and his hair is sticking up every which way from running his fingers through it repeatedly. The sight made Bucky pause for a second to simply appreciate exactly what he was looking at until Steve's expression turned quizzical.

"You worry too much." Bucky finally says. "Didn't wanna add to it."

Bucky hated it when Steve frowned and got the crease between his eyes that said he was trying to decide between disappointment or hurt but it wasn't in him to outright lie to the blonde. That's not how any part of their relationship worked, especially after had recovered most of himself from Hydra's conditioning.

"You can tell me anything, Buck." Steve protests. "I shouldn't have to find out about things that are important to you from a woman we barely know."

James pulls completely out of Steve's arms and stares at him incredulously. "What the _Hell_ Steve!?!"

Steve scrubs both hands over his face, his shoulders falling in a combination of defeat and embarrassment. When he finally looks directly at Bucky there's so much pain in his eyes that the brunette immediately reaches out to pull him closer.

"Talk to me, Stevie." Bucky implores as his lover shutters in his arms.

Steve stays quiet for so long that James wonders if he's going to get any answers from the other man. Then, so softly that only their proximity and enhanced hearing allows James to hear him, Steve finally stops being strong.

"You've been my world for longer than I can remember, Buck." Steve's voice is thick with emotion and he clings to Bucky as if the younger man will evaporate. "I almost lost you in Azzano and we shoulda gone home. Just taken the discharge and stayed safe."

The words were coming faster, with more and more of the Brooklyn coming through. Bucky knows Steve is crying by the dampness seeing through his shirt.

"I was so damned selfish, wanting to keep fighting, and then I did loose you because I couldn't just step away. And I hate myself for that. So much."

At those words James pulls back and puts his thumbs under Steve's jaw to get the torrent to stop.

"Hey, no. Look at me." He forces he blonde's eyes up and his heart breaks at the absolute despair he sees on that beloved face. There's a certainty twisting inside him that says Steve's very likely to tell him that the plunge into the ice was deliberate and Bucky doesn't think he can handle that confirmation.

"I'm here. I'm okay. Everything's all right." Bucky rushes to offer reassurance but Steve is shaking his head in denial.

"It's not." Steve insists. "They hurt you over and over and there's nothing I can do to fix it. It kills me to know that I can't fix it but someone else can."

"Oh, Steve." Bucky hugs him close again, clutching him as tight as they both can tolerate. "There's nothing wrong with taking help when you need it. You don't have to be strong for me. You just have to be _there_ for me."

Steve grips him just that extra bit tighter. "Till the end of the line."

When Steve's voice cracks on the oft repeated promise, Bucky knows that next time either of them falls it really will be the last time. It's a thought that terrifies him but at the same time is reassuring. That they'd never have to be alone again.

 

#### Sunday, September 4, 9:00 am

Anne is back on her knees in the middle of the tomatoes when a shadow falls over her shoulder. She sets another three of the heirloom plums into the basket at her side before rocking back onto her heels and tipping the brim of her hat up.

"I'm thinking pasta primavera for dinner tonight. I can add some shrimp or chicken if you'd like." She says to Steve, even though she can immediately tell he's got something on his mind.

"Shrimp sounds good." Steve replies automatically, shuffling from foot to foot. "Listen, Anne, I owe you an apology." 

Anne sighs and plops all the way down into a sitting position. When she gestures for Steve to join her he looks down at the rich soil between the plants a bit confused. Anne can't help but laugh brightly for a quick second. 

"It's only dirt, Steve, it'll come out in the wash."

Gingerly, the blonde eases himself down trying to mirror Anne's pose without damaging any of the plants surrounding him. Anne manages not to laugh this time but Steve can see the struggle on her face. He doesn't really know how to begin and sits fidgeting for several long moments before Anne decides to get the ball rolling.

"Now what's this foolishness about an apology?" She asks briskly, giving him her full attention.

"I don't consider it foolish." Steve responds, latching on to the single negative aspect of her question because it feels familiar. When Anne sighs, his shoulders slump and he scrubs his hands over his face. "I'm sorry."

Anne wants to interrupt but Steve shakes his head slightly and she shifts her weight, remaining silent.

"I've been rude, unfairly harsh, and completely ungrateful to you since we got here. You opened your home to me and Bucky and all I've done is show you anger and scorn." He takes a deep breath. "So yes, I owe you a pretty big apology and I'd really like if we could put my negative attitude behind us."

Immediately, Anne leans forward to grab Steve's hands in hers. Even though her gaze is steady on him, he feels the fine tremor in her grip. He makes no move to pull away, very conscious, based on her previous behavior, that Anne rarely reaches out to anyone. One she's absolutely positive she has his full attention, Anne squeezes once before lessening her grip but not completely letting go.

"Steve, you might think you need to apologize, maybe make amends, but I don't blame you or hold your attitude this paste week against you." Anne says softly. "It's actually something I expected the instant I saw you help James out of the truck. Your instinct is to protect him, especially in unfamiliar situations."

"But you're afraid of me." Steve says softly and Anne's hands twitch minutely, she hadn't realized that her reactions to the men were quite that obvious. "And you've stopped being afraid of Bucky."

"I'm not." Anne rebuts as firmly as she's able, instantly shaking her head when Steve opens his mouth to argue. "I swear, Steve, I'm not afraid of _you_. If I thought for one instant that you posed any kind of threat to me your ass would have been off my property in a heartbeat."

"But then why...?" He starts to ask and Anne rushes to offer her best explanation before Steve can really start to push the issue.

"Like you, I'm not always comfortable in new situations." She says in complete honesty. "Interacting with James is easier for me because I understand what he's been through and on some level he needs the type of care I can give him. I'm good at tending things and it puts me on familiar footing."

A look comes into Steve's eyes and Anne realizes that he's putting puzzle pieces together that she never meant to show him. She continues on quickly, again wanting to stall his thought process. "With you it's different. You try so hard to not need anything that I can't keep my balance and everything I try to do for you only seems to insult you."

Steve groans and drops his head with a shake. "Pride." He barks with a rueful laugh. "I've always suffered the sin of pride."

Anne sits quietly, wondering if he's about to annoy her by apologizing yet again. Instead Steve tips his head all the way back to look at the few clouds drifting above them, letting the silence continue to lengthen. It's surprisingly comfortable given the topic of conversation and Anne has never been the type to rush into filling quiet moments. Idly, she reaches for another tomato from the plant directly to her right, resisting the urge to unnecessarily readjust the leather covering her forearm.

"I can promise to try harder." Steve says finally, leveling his head to lock eyes with Anne. With the calm intensity of those very blue eyes focused completely on her, she feels that quick flip to her stomach that she'd experienced that first day and fights not to frown. Instead she nods, slides her legs under her in a precursor to standing.

"That's a promise I can return." She replies and the smile he offers her turns that flip into the smallest spark that scares her nearly as much as it surprises her. Without another word, Anne levers herself up and grabs her basket of vegetables before turning back to the house. Even as she feels Steve watching her retreat she promises herself she's not running but if she'd seen the speculation on the blonde's face she might have considered it.


End file.
